


Not the going out of port (but the coming in)

by dawnstruck



Series: Voyager [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gentle Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Threat of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: “You honestly thought I didn't know?” Lotor drawls, “You thought you were being secretive when his lewd moans could be heard even down in the engine rooms? My father made a mistake elevating his status and deeming him worthy of the royal family when he has never been anything but a disgrace.”Or, a rescue.





	Not the going out of port (but the coming in)

**Author's Note:**

> There was meant to be more team interaction, especially with Hunk and Allura in the spotlight, but somehow the rest of the plot got in the way. I apologize.  
> I also apologize for the long wait because, holy hell, I meant to have this out by March. Life, you know?
> 
> Soundtrack: “I Love You” by Woodkid feat. Angel Haze & "We'll be found" by Sia

 

“ _ **It is not the going out of port but the coming in, that determines the success of a voyage.”**_

**Henry Ward Beecher**

* * *

 

The radio silence, at first, does not bother him.

Pidge has a habit of getting distracted while Keith likes to ignore orders. Together they are more than capable to carry out their mission, but not necessarily in the pristine way Shiro would have preferred. Still, he has faith in them, expects them to call either if they run into trouble or once they successfully finish their work.

After one day passes with no word from either of them, however, the rest of the team quickly grows restless. Primarily, it is Hunk and Lance whose fraternal instincts for Pidge begin to shine through, even if they would never admit it to her face, but Shiro, too, finds himself worried. Keith's hot temper has gotten them all into trouble more than once but he is not known for simply going AWOL. First and foremost, he is still a soldier.

Instead of wasting time on lengthy discussions about strategy, the decision is easily made.

What little information Coran could give them on Bimir and the Benrali does not sound overly threatening, but it would not be the first time that the team had accidentally ended up in situation that turned out to be more dangerous than expected. Time, therefore, is of the essence, even if they are going in almost blind.

On their way to the planet, they repeatedly try to hail the Green Lion but to no avail, no answers forthcoming. Across their bond, however, the she feels agitated, incorporeal worry for her pilot, and in turn Shiro finds himself on edge as well.

“C'mon, Shiro,” Lance jokes over the comm, “We're talking about Pidge and Keith here. If we left them to it, they could probably defeat Zarkon on the fly. Heck, maybe that's what they are doing right now. Done with the side quest, on to the main boss.”

It doesn't help much, the anxiety bleeding into his voice too thinly veiled.

Shiro also tries to ignore the gnawing doubt in the back of his head that idly wonders whether this was Keith's doing. Whether he had used this chance to get away from the group and flee for whatever reason. That he had betrayed and deserted them.

But no, Shiro reminds himself. The Red Lion was still safely back at the Castle. Keith would not leave her behind, probably wouldn't even get very far without her.

When they finally reach Bimir, they find the Green Lion hidden away from the next settlement of the Benrali. Keith's idea, most likely. Even now he still kept insisting that the name Voltron was not a magic word that would immediately endear other people to them. Once upon a time, Voltron might have meant something. But once upon a time, Zarkon had also been the Black Paladin. And a child who has been burned once knows to fear the fire.

Sometimes, it was better to approach other civilizations as friendly strangers, especially when they were asking for help and resources. This, though, also made a two men cell more vulnerable to ambushes. Pidge did not yet have the instinctual connection to her Lion that Lance and Keith did. The Green Lion might have been unable to follow her call if she needed her.

So Shiro decides to disregard Allura's caution and instead chooses intimidation as the best tactic for this scenario.

They land their three lions directly next to the settlement. Around them the Benrali are running for cover, children screaming for their elders, but Shiro feels no remorse. In some cases, cooperation was only achieved through coercion.

They disembark, careful to keep their helmets on as Coran had warned them the atmosphere might not be breathable for them, but they do not reach for their weapons either. They do not need to. All three of them are easily twice as tall as the natives who are cautiously peering out of their houses again.

Flanked by Hunk and Lance, Shiro waits.

Finally, a small group of Benrali gathers and slowly approaches the newcomers. They do not exactly look like the stereotypical depiction of Martians, but their green skin glimmers like scales underneath their micro sun. The woman heading the group must be the village's eldest, dressed in rich blue cloth, doubtlessly dyed with the vibrant color of the seas of flowers they saw on their way here.

Whenever they encounter a new civilization, part of Shiro is always tempted to be a little cheesy and say 'We come in peace', but this time he is unsure whether he can hold true to that. Especially when he sees the somber look in the eldest's eyes.

“You know why we are here,” he says.

“Aye,” she agrees sagely, her arms folded behind her back, “You come looking for your friend.”

“Friend _s_ ,” Hunk pipes up from behind Shiro, “Plural. Two, to be exact. And we'd like both of them back.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Lance yaps, flexing his muscles like an over-compensating chihuahua. It does not seem to overly impress the Benrali, but Shiro appreciates the gesture nevertheless.

“Hm,” the old woman hums, “We only have the one.”

She nods at a group of younger ones and they scurry away. Shiro watches suspiciously, trying to ascertain whether he ought to expect any sort of backstabbing.

He needn't have worried, though, not on that level. The Benrali return, carrying Pidge between them. She seems to be unconscious when they settle her down in the coarse grass, but it's difficult to tell whether she has any other injuries. Shiro feels the rage boiling up in him.

“What did you do to her?” he demands.

“She is unharmed,” the eldest promises.

“In my book 'passed out in potentially hostile environment' does not exactly fall under the definition of 'unharmed',” Lance notes scathingly, already kneeling down next to Pidge and carefully checking her over, even though her armor barely allows it.

“Then where is Keith?” Shiro wants to know. By now the Benrali's attitude has convinced him that it really must have been them who knocked Pidge out, instead of some sort of accident or them finding her in this state. Which meant that they probably had done something to Keith, too.

“We hold no grudge against you, paladins,” the eldest explains calmly, completely ignoring the question, “We simply seek to protect ourselves.”

So they do know about Voltron, whether through their own ancient tales or because Pidge and Keith had properly introduced themselves after all. They know and they had attacked them anyway.

“Keith _is_ one of the paladins and Voltron is all that stands between you and Zarkon,” Shiro growls, “Whatever you have done to him might well have sealed the fate of the galaxy.”

“We shall persevere,” she tells him, almost serenely, “That is the Benrali way.”

In that moment, one of the younger men decides to speak up.

“Your friend is a Galra first and a paladin second,” he says, sounding not nearly as unbiased as his elder had seemed, “Not so long ago, he took part in the raid on our planet which took many lives. Can you excuse that? Can you truly call him innocent and our ally?”

Shiro startles, caught off guard. In front of him, he can see Lance's shoulders tense up, hunched over Pidge as he is.

He should have suspected, of course. Keith had made no secret of the fact that he had been a soldier and a fighter pilot. That Zarkon had only legitimized him because Keith had distinguished himself as a valuable warrior. Which meant that Keith, even if he was now fighting against his father, had once committed war crimes in his name.

It's a bitter thought, a poisonous one, especially now that the others had finally come to tentatively view Keith as a companion. But, Shiro reminds himself, It's not as if I am innocent either.

The parameters of the arena had been different, in a way. Kill or be killed, most of the time, and half of those times his opponents were mere prisoners of war themselves. They had wanted to put Matt Holt into the arena, Matt who had been a nerdy string bean, but also in the prime of his youth and completely healthy. He still would not have stood a chance. Shiro had saved Matt, only to face others like him. Shiro had killed some of them.

Keith, though. Shiro tries to imagine what Keith's life must have been like. Lonely, surely, if Keith's overall attitude was anything to go by. Violent, if he knew anything about how Zarkon's admirals ran the military. Keith was a hybrid and an bastard of the emperor, even if the latter fact might not necessarily have been known, the former was readily apparent and Keith would surely have been ostracized for it.

It was no excuse. But it was an explanation.

“Where is he then?” Hunk asks now, the words quaking with his hesitance, “You didn't- did you?”

The eldest inclines her head, no sin, no shame, “Prince Lotor wanted him alive.”

Panic, black and cloying like tar, fills Shiro's struggling lungs. Lotor who despised Keith and who was known for his childish acts of cruelty. Outright death would have been kinder.

“So what, you just have Zarkon's heir on speed dial?” Lance hisses, “How convenient.”

The eldest gives him a long, patient look, ends it with a slow blink.

“Quite a while ago, Prince Lotor issued a search warrant for his younger brother,” she says, “He promised rewards to those who could capture him.”

“And what did you get? Gold? Diamonds? A fruit basket?”

“The hostages they took when they raided our planet.”

Silence. All of them look to the ground.

“So?” Lance ask, “Did he return them?”

“... Not yet.”

“You may well be waiting forever,” Shiro points out, “The Galra are not known for their gratitude.”

For the first time, the eldest's lips pinch in dismay.

“Are you?” she asks, a vague challenge in her voice.

“Show us how to contact Lotor,” he says, “And you will find out.”

They stare each other down, Human and Benrali. But Shiro has faced worse opponents. Finally, the eldest nods.

“Aaand we still need the blasium for the castle,” Hunk points out, remembering the objective of Keith and Pidge's original mission. And, because he is a gentleman as well as an engineer, he adds, “Please.”

 

“I don't remember anything,” Pidge says, angrily rubbing her temple. Around them, the Green Lion is thrumming, almost like a purr meant to comfort her. “They seemed really nice at first. They showed me the mines where they harvest the blasium, but Keith was too big to fit so he waited outside. I guess they did that on purpose, to separate us. One moment, one of them is explaining the mineral components of the ore to me, the next I'm out cold.”

“We have to act quickly,” Allura says over the comm, “Without Keith, you cannot form Voltron and Zarkon will have the upper hand.”

Shiro knows she is right, knows she is just being rational, but he also cannot contain a small spark of frustration at her words. Keith was part of Voltron, yes, but he was also simply part of the team. He had a worth beyond his being the Red Paladin.

“Sooo, how bad is this Lotor guy?” Hunk asks, “Very bad? I mean, he's Zarkon's son, so it's kinda duh, but then again, Keith is half-Zarkon, too. Is Lotor, like, Zarkon 2.0 or more like, I dunno, Mini-Zarkon? Wannabe Zarkon? I-am-an-even-bigger-megalomaniac-than-my-father-Zarkon? Or, eh, Lotor, in that case, I guess.”

“I never met him,” Shiro says, “But Keith didn't exactly speak favorably of him.”

“Did Keith speak favorably of anyone _ever_?” Lance quips and Shiro sends him a look.

“There were mentions of slave girls and an unnecessary use of torture.”

“... oh,” Lance says, small-voiced.

“All the more reason to act quickly!” Coran pipes up, “With the hailing frequency the Benrali used to contact Prince Lotor, you should be able to locate his ship. It will not be easy, of course, but-”

“I think I've got a handle on it,” Pidge says, cracking her knuckles, “First thing I need to do it to strengthen the signal.”

“Which is best done by getting them to answer on our frequency,” Hunk agrees, “Got it.”

“Doesn't that take away the element of surprise, though?” Lance asks.

“They'll suspect we're coming anyway,” Shiro says, “Even if they don't know for certain, they will still be on their toes.”

That's what the reasonable part of Shiro knows. The other, more hot-headed, side also wants to ascertain that Keith is still alright.

“Very well,” Allura nods, “I shall-”

“No,” Shiro cuts her off, making everyone turn to him in surprise. They all know he holds great respect for the princess and being this rude is unlike him.

“I'm sorry,” he forces himself to say, “But I think I should speak to him. I do not know him personally, but he knows me. Not to mention that his regard for women is rather limited.”

Allura's lips pinch but she gives a tight nod.

“I trust your judgment, Shiro,” she says but it sounds more like a reminder for him to keep his cool.

“Okay,” Pidge says a few minutes later, bent over her glowing console, “I think I got it.” She blinks questioning eyes up at Shiro, “Do you want me to contact them right away?”

“Yes,” he tells her, braced against the back of her seat, “He likes to play games so he'll probably answer. It'll buy you time to follow their signal to its source.”

“Well then,” she nods, pushing a few more buttons that he is pretty sure Black's console doesn't have, “You are going live in three – two – one!”

For a moment, there is nothing but static, both across the comm and on the screen in front of them. Eventually, the sound clears, becomes steadier. They all hold their breath.

“This is Nebula 56-22 speaking,” a voice replies, “Do you copy?”

“This is Voltron,” Shiro growls back, “And we can hear you just fine.”

For a long moment, there is only silence and Shiro almost thinks they cut off the connection. Then-

“What do you want?” A bit of fear, intimidation. Perfect.

“Get me Lotor on the line. I'd like a word with him.”

“The Prince does not listen to enemies' demands.”

“Tell him it's me,” Shiro growls, “Tell him it's the Champion.”

Silence once more.

“... Connecting you to the bridge.”

Shiro crosses his arms and holds on to what little patience he has left.

 

Lotor, when he accepts their call, is wearing an insufferable smirk, and Shiro – who had only ever seen the prince from afar – tries not to be to startled by how similar he and Keith look.

Lotor's hair is long and white where Keith's is messy and dark. Lotor is as tall as most other Galra, but more slender, his face smooth, his ears pointed. His skin is more mauve than Keith's lavender. For the first time, Shiro wonders whether Lotor is not a purebred Galra either. Wonders whether Zarkon is.

He is dressed in rich fabrics instead of armor, evidence of his vanity, and the easy way he sits in his chair speaks of his confidence. A spoiled brat or a tried commander? It's hard to tell.

“Champion,” Lotor addresses him grandly, “I believe we've never had the pleasure of meeting face to face before. Until we do, this will have to suffice in the meantime.”

Cut the cartoon villain crap, Shiro thinks angrily but maintains his posture.

“You know why we contacted you,” he says instead.

“I know why,” Lotor muses, “But I wonder how exactly you got your grubby hands on that hailing frequency. Don't tell me those little green creatures on Bimir just gave me away. I do so hate tattle-tales.”

“Don't try to drag third parties into this,” Shiro warns him, “This is between us and you.”

“Is it, truly?” Lotor asks innocently, “The Benrali are smarter than some other races. Made cunning by virtue of fear. They returned something that I have been looking for for a while.”

“Keith.”

“Yes.” A slow smirk stretches across his face, mocking in its languid execution. “Keith. My little brother. Or rather, your whore.”

At those words, Shiro startles but tries not to show it. Lotor, however, is not fooled.

“You honestly thought I didn't know?” he drawls, “You thought you were being secretive when his lewd moans could be heard even down in the engine rooms? My father made a mistake elevating his status and deeming him worthy of the royal family when he has never been anything but a disgrace.”

Envy, Shiro thinks, particularly now that Keith piloted Red who had previously rejected Lotor. Racism, too, perhaps, as Keith's mere existence was a mockery, impure yet still more capable than most.

“Perhaps,” Lotor adds now, the corners of his mouth taking a wicked edge, “He simply needs to feel Galran cock to remind him of the superiority of our race.”

At those words, Shiro's heartbeat turns slow and sluggish in his chest.

“You would defile your own kin?” he asks and does not recognize his voice.

“ _Kin_ ,” Lotor hisses disdainfully, “His blood is thin and sullied. He is no kin of mine. But rest assured, champion, I prefer my lovers untouched by others. You have nothing to fear from me...”

He trails off in that way that is too meaningful to make Shiro exhale in relief.

“However,” Lotor continues, “Father was not happy to hear of my little brother's desertion. In fact, he has given me permission to punish him in whatever manner I see fit. And it just so happens that some of my men still have a score to settle with him. - Madir, Arruk!”

With the last words, he gestures off to the side and then two Galra step into the frame of the camera. One of them is wearing an eye patch, his face clawed up with thin scars. The other is plain ugly.

But between them they are leading Keith, his arms extended at his sides, and then they are already forcing him to his knees, pushing his head down until he is almost kissing the ground in front of Lotor's feet.

Like this, it is difficult to make out the expression on Keith's face. His muscles are tense but he does not seem injured. Yet he is not fighting back either.

Shiro watches and _burns_. He does not like their hands on Keith and he likes their intentions even less.

“Shiro,” Lance whispers next to him, “Dude, your arm.”

Shiro frowns first at him and then looks down at himself. His right arm is doused in its sickly purplish glow, without his permission, without his awareness even. It had been fueled by anger before but never when he was not already physically engaged in battle.

The others are looking at him with worry in their eyes and he does not want to think about why that may be. There are too many reasons to count.

He tries to control the arm, tries to control himself, but it's a futile attempt. His gaze cuts back up to the screen, only to see Eyepatch caress the base of Keith's skull with dangerously pointed claws.

“I'll leave the hailing frequency open for you,” Lotor promises, his eyes carelessly lowered to observe the display at his feet. Yet the look on his face is like that of a cat who got both the cream and the canary. “I hope you still enjoy his screams.”

The picture cuts off, but the sound remains. But even with the momentary silence, it is almost worse than having to watch.

“Pidge,” Shiro growls, though she is still furiously working the console, trying to locate the signal.

“On it,” she returns, sounding tense. She is a genius and works well under pressure but there is only so much she can do.

“Shiro,” Hunk says nervously, “They're not... they're not really going-”

“To your lions,” Shiro orders, cutting off the question to which he already knows the answer. Lotor's cruelty was not the careless kind, but rather a calculated form of sadism. If anything, he might want to drag it out, dangle the threat above them like the sword of Damocles' but always with the certainty that it would fall eventually.

It might buy them time, at least, though perhaps not enough to make a difference.

They leave Pidge to it then and quickly head out to climb into their own lions which power up immediately. They all know the urgency, can feel their missing part like the glaring absence of a puzzle piece. They are still Voltron, in a way, but they are not complete.

The baseline of Black's consciousness feels agitated but, beyond that, Shiro can also tell Red is spoiling for a fight, left behind at the Castle of Lions as she is.

We'll get him back, Shiro thinks, Just you wait.

In that moment, there is a loud shuffle at the other end of the frequency that Pidge has transferred into all of their cockpits, followed by a dull clang against metal.

“Get your filthy hands off me, you bastard,” Keith hisses, “Do you want to lose your other eye as well?”

It's the first words he had spoken yet, and Shiro tries to not feel affronted by how Keith hadn't even bothered with talking to his team. Lotor would not have liked him doing that, probably, but it wasn't like Keith didn't live for his spite.

“I still have to thank you for that, my prince,” another voice replies, distracting Shiro from his thoughts, “And for how you stuck that knife in Arruk. I believe he would like to return the favor. In a rather different manner, I'm sure you'll understand.”

There is the sound of Keith's breastplate hitting the ground, a sound Shiro is intimately familiar with because he has heard it so often, because he has undressed Keith just a violently.

Keith had wanted it then, had provoked him, had begged for it at times. In the beginning, he had always attempted to remain quiet, had held on to his silence as though it were the last of his weapons. Yet Shiro had wrested that from him, too, had made him keen and cry out until he was moaning his name as though hoping to carve it into his vocal cords.

He didn't dare think what would happen if those Galrans truly forced themselves on him. Would Keith break? Or would he forge his pain into a new blade with which he could hold others at arms length?

He thinks of Keith bickering with Lance, of him sampling Hunk's pastries with pinched fingers. Thinks of kissing him goodbye before the mission and Keith barely even objecting. Something in Shiro withers at the thought of losing all that.

“Got it!” Pidge finally crows in that moment.

“Send us the coordinates,” Shiro tells her and then they are all already taking to the air, leaving Bimir as a blue-and-green memory in their distance.

 

Fortunately, Galran ships do not travel as fast as the lions of Voltron do. Even if he had been in the same quadrant as Bimir, he still must have taken a smaller ship to follow their call so quickly, abduct Keith, and flee again. If he had taken a wormhole, it would have made things more complicated, as it made him more difficult to track.

Yet Pidge's skills don't disappoint and, even with only four lions, it is enough to apprehend Lotor's ship.

There are still the sounds of Keith fighting back coming over the comm, but there are also the sounds of him losing. He flings insults like bullets which do little but fuel both his attackers amusement and ire. He does not cry for help.

Voltron hears him anyway.

Before they can even do much of anything, though, there are Galran fighter jets launching themselves into the pending fray.

“Engage them,” Shiro orders and Lance wastes no time to take one of them down, easy as that, and Shiro deems it warning enough.

“Prince Lotor,” he addresses Zarkon's heir, “Release Keith and we will let you go unscathed.”

Lotor does not bother with turning on visuals once more and it is difficult to judge why. It may be another intimidation tactic, obscuring the actions on his end, or a measure of concealment so that Voltron may not see his fear.

“Big words for someone who cannot even keep his crew together,” he taunts, “Though I reckon it wasn't all your fault. You were too trusting but now my brother's tainted past has caught up with him. They Benrali told you, did they not? How he killed in our sire's name? How he worked his way up the ranks, one diminished planet at a time? Others spend most of their lives trying to achieve what he did with tenacity and ruthlessness. The only reason he joined your little group was hunger. He wanted Zarkon to name him heir instead and his envy has made him seek his glory in other ways. He means to defeat our father to take the throne himself.”

“Yeah, I think we'll take our chances,” Lance snipes and takes guns down another jet while Black and Yellow keep Lotor's ship cornered.

“Keith's part of the family now,” Hunk adds, “Especially since you guys are so shitty.”

Oh, Shiro thinks, feeling a curious kind of warmth unfurl in his chest. Because especially Lance's words could easily be read as bragging but, the truth of the matter is that they are not saying this simply to counter Lotor. They are saying it to show Keith that – no matter what – they still have his back.

Yet Lotor himself does not acknowledge them.

“Really, now, Champion,” he susurrates, “Risking the fate of the universe for a hole you like to fuck? How irresponsible.”

He's trying to goad on the others now, to make them realize how Shiro is too driven by irrational emotions. He wants to instigate mutiny. Luckily, that is not how the bond between the paladins works.

It is also not how the bond to their lions works.

“What the quiznak,” Pidge yelps in that moment, “Is that-?”

It is, as a quick glance at Shiro's navigation screen confirms. In his head, Black purrs at the welcome surprise.

“How-” Lotor begins, cuts off, “I thought _he_ was the Red Paladin?”

“The Lion chooses its pilot,” Shiro says, “Or didn't your father tell you that?”

“Then why-”

“The Black Lion follows me,” Shiro knows, “And the Red Lion follows Keith. No matter where he goes.”

Across their spiritual connection, Red roars triumphantly and the others easily join in. They are far from the Castle of Lions, yet Red, without her pilot to command her, had come to his aid nonetheless.

And Coran had spoken of the extraordinarily strong bond between Lance and Blue, yet this seemed even more meaningful. There was no doubt left whether Keith was meant to be with them. This was fate and, more than that, it was choice, too.

The question was whether they would still be able to form Voltron like this. This question was whether it would be necessary. Because Red, hotheaded and reckless even without her paladin, just starts throwing herself at Lotor's ship, forcing it off course.

“I have no control over her,” Shiro says conversationally, “So let's make this quick: Return Keith or we will take you out.”

Shiro, after all, had gained the name of Champion for a reason. He always fought to win.

Lotor seems to understand so, too, because he quickly changes his tactic.

“And risk his precious life as well?” he asks, obviously hoping to appeal to Shiro's gentle heart instead, “Are you truly so savage, champion?”

Shiro is not. Shiro wants to do everything in his power to get Keith out alive.

Uncomfortably, he recalls the time Allura had been taken captive and Keith had advocated to just leave her there. Logically, he had understood the reasoning and he still does now. But logic was not always the winning motivator.

Yet he also knows Keith and he knows Zarkon. Whatever fate awaited Keith if he was brought before his father – swift death in the vacuum of space would be kinder.

“Keep firing,” Shiro orders, “Aim for the engines.”

“But,” Hunk protests immediately, “What about K-”

“Fire,” Shiro repeats.

He is not bluffing. Their joint attacks crash against the already weakened shields of the ship, jerking it with each impact. A single tear in the hull would mean certain demise for everyone on board.

Lotor must realize so, too, must realize that the Champion's reputation was never made up of empty threats. And, unlike Keith, he is afraid of Death.

“Cease!” he calls out, “You can have him!”

He does not say 'I surrender' because a son of Zarkon does not yield. That, perhaps, is the only thing the two brothers have in common.

Immediately, all attacks stop.

“Then unhand him,” Shiro demands, yet Lotor is leery still.

“How will I know that you do not plan to kill us once he is out of my reach?”

“You have my word.”

“I have no reason to trust it.”

“Let's put it like this,” Shiro smiles grimly, “I would also welcome it if you returned the captured Benrali to their home planet as you promised.”

A beat of silence as Prince Lotor of Galra struggles to swallow and digest the greatest humiliation of his life, and in front of his crew to boot. Not only had he managed to capture but then lose his traitor brother and carelessly sacrificed several of his own fighter pilots. He had also forfeited rather important hostages and therefore Zarkon's hold over Bimir and the valuable blasium.

“I will make you regret this, Champion,” Lotor hisses.

“I doubt it,” Shiro huffs. He does not underestimate Lotor, does not fool himself into believing that he is merely dealing with a spoiled child. But Lotor has nothing on Zarkon. And he has nothing on Keith.

With bated breath, they all wait for Keith to be given a fighter jet or at least a cargo ship. But Lotor is a coward and his solution much simpler than that. One of the docking stations of the Galran ship opens and then Keith is already being tossed out the airlock. He is wearing his suit which means he can survive, if only for a little while, but then Red is already diving in and swallowing him whole.

And Shiro wants to break his word, wants to make sure that nothing is left of Lotor and his posse, wants to rail fire and brimstone upon them and create a black hole in their place.

“Retreat,” he orders instead and counts his restraint as another victory.

 

“We could have taken him hostage,” Pidge complains, “We could have blackmailed Zarkon and demanded a ransom. We could have-”

“Pidge,” Shiro says, his tone gentle but final, “I'm sorry.”

She glowers at him and then jerks her face away so she doesn't have to look at him anymore. She must think that they could have traded Lotor for Matt and Samuel, that her quest could have been over just like that. But things aren't quite so easy and Shiro doubts that Zarkon could be swayed like that. Lotor may have been his legitimate heir but Keith had spoken often enough of how his father did not care for weaklings within his ranks and certainly not within his bloodline. Failures were weeded out and discarded, natural selection without shedding a tear.

They are back at the castle now, with Allura and Coran fussing over them. It turns out that Pidge has a bit of a headache from whatever the Benrali did to take her out, though she waves off the offer of a healing pod. Which leaves Keith as the only one who might have suffered any direct injuries.

He has not spoken much since they freed him, is even more taciturn than usual. He walks with the gait of someone who is overly focused on looking at ease and he has not even taken off his helmet yet.

His wounded pride, Shiro thinks, must be the worst of it. The other possibility, the one that they had not been quick enough to reach him, is too stomach-turning to entertain.

“Let us at least take a look at your wounds,” Allura begs, her brown hand tentatively lifted to Keith's shoulder but he immediately shrugs out of her grasp.

“I'm fine,” he snarls but, when she jerks back, he averts his gaze. “I've had worse,” he amends, his tone more subdued, “I can deal with it.”

He doesn't look overly injured, physically, but that means little. There had been a stray dog in Shiro's village that everyone knew. One day it got hit by a car and just got up again, shaking it off, until several days later someone finally took it to the vet to find out that it had a broken leg and several cracked ribs. And it wasn't like Shiro didn't know of Keith's incredible tolerance for pain.

But for now, he won't push. For now, this is enough. Keith's mere presence, the knowledge that he is alive and reasonably well, is enough to ground Shiro. His arm by his side is cool and gray.

“Alright,” he says, getting everyone's attention, “Debrief now and dinner later. Let's get this over with.”

So they talk about how they have to be more careful when initiating contact with other planets, Coran all the while furiously apologizing for underestimating the Benrali. They talk about the risk of getting separated on missions and of being too trusting, which makes Pidge gnash her teeth. They talk about emergency protocols and ideas for some sort of panic buttons, instigating a lot of excitement and hand-waving from Hunk. They talk about the threat that Lotor poses.

“We have neglected his involvement in the war for too long,” Allura says, “Once we take down Zarkon, it is likely that Lotor will ascend the throne. We need to know all there is to him so we can better prepare.”

Automatically, everyone turns towards Keith for the expected information. Yet Keith, it turns out, is not there.

Shiro looks around and immediately finds himself on alert again.

“Where is Keith?” he asks the room at large, a question that had been on his mind and tongue too much this day. His tone, therefore, is a little on the sharp side and the others must notice it as well, exchanging uncertain glances.

“Uh, knowing him, he probably didn't care for all the chin-wagging and just sneaked out,” Lance muses.

“Dammit,” Shiro grits his teeth, “I did not dismiss him yet.”

“He looked pretty exhausted,” Hunk soothes, “He probably just wants to sleep. It's been a long day.”

“As it has been for all of us,” Shiro growls, “He can't just wander off on his own all the time.”

“Shiro,” Allura's hand is on his arm, “What happened today was not Keith's fault, not directly. You cannot hold him responsible.”

“I'm not-”, Shiro protests but in the same breath he knows that it would be a lie. He does not blame Keith for getting kidnapped. But the furious beating of his heart complains about the fact how right now Keith was seeking solitude once more.

He takes a deep breath.

“Very well,” he says, taking a step forward and effectively shrugging off Allura's hand, “But the point still stands. It's been a long day. We can converge tomorrow and continue this discussion. For now, let's call it a night.”

The others just nod and Shiro does not bother with wondering what they might be thinking about his behavior. For now, he needs to find a way to somehow stop the storm inside of him.

 

As predicted, he finds Keith on the training deck which quickly does away with the excuse of him being too exhausted for the debriefing. For a few moments, Shiro just stands by the door and watches.

Keith's movements are a bit stiffer, a bit jerkier than usual but it is difficult to tell whether that is because of any hindering injuries or because his emotions are throwing him off his game. In any case, Shiro is not amused.

“Simulation end,” he calls out, watching at the bot stops in its tracks and Keith falters on his jump to evade it.

A second later, Keith is throwing him a venomous looks.

“If you've come to give me a more personalized lecture of 'we need to be more careful on missions',” he quips, “You can save it. I've learned my lesson.”

“Have you?” Shiro asks. A child that's been burned knows to fear the fire but sometimes he suspects that Keith would rather watch himself go up in flames than openly admit defeat.

“This isn't just about you,” Shiro reminds him, “If the Benrali had been any more malevolent, they could have hurt Pidge. They could have handed her over to Lotor as well.”

Keith's shoulders hunch up, like a chastised dog. He was still reluctant about showing it, though it was obvious enough that he had come to care for the rest of the team. Keith might not call the other paladins his friends, but he did respect them. And, between Lance's inferiority complexes, Pidge's deep-rooted anger, and Hunk's occasional pessimism, he had more than enough in common with them.

There are other things, of course. Things that make them a team, that have allowed them to grow closer. It had been a stumbling, awkward road, and they were not quite there yet. But for something such as this, the journey is its own reward.

“We were incredibly lucky today,” Shiro says now, gentling his tone, “But if you had gotten hurt-”

“You could have just found a new paladin.”

The words are as steadfast as the look in Keith's purple eyes. For once, he is not fueled by contradiction but by conviction and, for maybe the first time, Shiro understands something very crucial about Keith.

His mother had died giving birth to him. Zarkon had only claimed him as an heir once he deemed him worthy and had cut him lose just as easily. Lotor had always thought him weak and inferior. And even within the ranks, other soldiers had seemed eager exert their power over him when given the chance.

Keith, so entrenched in the ways of the Galra, had yet to understand humanity.

“You have a worth beyond being paladin,” Shiro tells him now, taking a small step closer, “You must know that.”

Yet Keith only gives a bleak smile.

“Yes,” he says, a strange tilt to his cheek, as though asking for a slap, “I am your whore, after all.”

Was that what he had been thinking all along? Or had that idea only been planted their by Lotor's poisonous words today? Shiro doesn't know and, in the end, it does not matter. There is only the disappointment and fury that lashes up in him like a teeming sea, and then he is already grabbing Keith by the arm.

“We have a saying on Earth,” he says, leaning in close, “One for all and all for one. So yes, you are the right arm of Voltron and maybe someone else could do the job. But don't you doubt for a second that we wouldn't have laid our lives down to save you!”

Keith's eyes are wide now but they are already straining away again, fleeing toward the corner of the room, as though looking at Shiro were too dangerous. The dog trying not to provoke further.

“Today, Red was there for you,” Shiro reminds him because Keith has to know that that counts for something, “Hunk was there, and Lance and Pidge. _I_ was there! Tomorrow would be the same, and the day after that. What else do I need to do to prove you belong here?!”

Keith is still in his armor but Shiro does not hesitate to simply pull the helmet off his head and dive right in, taking Keith's lips in an overwhelming kiss.

Today, the others had begun to understand how much Keith meant to him. Now, Shiro begins to understand, too. Only Keith seemed a bit slow on the uptake.

Yet he kisses Shiro, kisses him and closes his eyes and only struggles a little when Shiro closes his arms around him.

They stand like this, wet kisses and hard hands and all, reveling in the fact that they are reunited once more, Lotor's schemes be damned. Eventually, though, Shiro pulls back.

“You're done with training,” he decides.

Keith nods, “The bot was starting to bore me anyway.”

And just like that, they are on eye level again.

Shiro sinks his fingers into Keith's dark hair, tugging at his scalp, dragging him to the door and from the training deck. Keith is clawing at his wrists, hindered by his gloves though he may be, but it's more for show than anything else. They both know whether this is going to end and, soon enough, they have made it to Shiro's cabin. The door opens and then closes behind them and then they are finally blissfully alone after a long day of too much.

They undress each other in a rush, ungainly elbows and stumbled steps to the bed. Underneath Keith's armor, his black thermosuit is torn to shreds. Shiro stares at the claw marks wreaking havoc on his skin. There is an abundance of black bruises, too, and the imprint of teeth at the side of his neck.

An unbidden image enters his mind, of Keith bent over in front of Lotor, one of the vile Galra leaning over him, fitting his jaw against the fragile pulse, biting down to stake a claim, and Shiro vows to mark Keith up so good that neither of them can tell anymore who did what.

Some people seemed to take jealousy as a sign for a passionate relationship but, before Keith, Shiro had never known possessiveness. He had lost a high school sweetheart to a buddy and shrugged it off. He had entered Galaxy Garrison with a mutual agreement for an open relationship, though he and his girlfriend had eventually drifted apart after all. He had very nearly lost it when Keith contemplated letting anyone else into their bed.

Keith had been aiming to provoke then, particularly since Shiro felt relatively certain that Keith held no interest in Lance of all people, but the thought had still stung. The thought that Shiro could not give him all that Keith demanded, that he might start looking somewhere if Shiro did not satisfy his needs.

This, however, is more than that. This is the knowledge that Keith had been moments away from being raped at the order of his brother, raped by those who were ranked beneath him, raped while the rest of Voltron was listening to a live broadcast of his abjection.

Would he even be able to endure Shiro's hands on him now or would it feel like yet another threat?

Shiro nuzzles his nose against Keith's temples, breathes in deep.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, hears Keith inhale sharply, expects rejections.

“Yes,” Keith surprises him instead, “Yes.”

So Shiro fucks him, unbelievably rough. The roughest ever, maybe, certainly the roughest in a while. Keith wines and cries, elated, arching into each new bruise that is being put on him and scratching Shiro up in turn. And Shiro has collected his fair share of scars in the arena but none of those had ever felt like trophies.

He shoves two fingers into Keith's mouth, pushing down his tongue so that his palm is pressed against his chin, tilting his head back in a show of dominance. Keith does not even try to bite him, his gaze defiant but pliable enough.

Shiro's own mouth, in the aching absence of kisses, yearns for something else to do. Words fail him. Usually, this would be the point were he lavishes insults upon Keith, each one a new pleasant hurt for Keith to squirm under. But Keith has been called too many names today and, in some ways, this is already too reminiscent of what Lotor had had planned for him.

“You're doing so well,” Shiro praises and, though the words themselves are not completely new, they seem to open up a wellspring of others like them in core, “Yes, just like that. You're beautiful.”

Keith's brow creases, almost as though confused. And it's not wonder, really. Pretty slut, Shiro had called him before, never the compliment without the insult.

But it was true. Keith was beautiful and Shiro had always thought so. In the very beginning, he had instinctively recoiled from the sight of purple skin, but other than that Keith looks little like his brethren. His eyes, though, are the most distinct. Unlike the unpleasant yellow of the pure-blooded Galra, Keith's eyes look human, though even on Earth the deep violet of his irises would be considered a rarity.

Shiro pushes his fingers deeper, making Keith choke momentarily, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, making them glisten and then running down along his cheeks. His ass clenches around Shiro.

“You feel so good quivering underneath me,” Shiro continues, leaning back a little so he can watch the slow hard slide of his cock, “You take it so well. And your taste...”

He bends down again to lick up a tear where it had converged with the sweat in the hollow of Keith's collarbone, moves further upward to pull his fingers free from Keith's mouth and replace it with his tongue.

Keith whimpers, rakes his claws down Shiro's back and the heat of the accompanying pain seems to sink to Shiro's spine, setting him aflame. In return, he speeds up his thrusts again, doesn't give Keith time to adjust to it, barely lets him breathe with how hard he fucks him.

Today could have been it. If Lotor had been a little more impatient, a little more ruthless. If the Benrali had cared more about their revenge instead of their loved ones. If Keith's own spite had caused him to bite off his own tongue before Pidge could even locate him. So many variables with too similar an outcome.

“I thought I'd lost you,” Shiro whispers against Keith's damp neck.

And Keith, in an age-old confirmation of life, comes.

 

It's in the middle of the night that Shiro wakes to the feeling of Keith rolling out of bed, naked as he is.

In the darkness, Shiro wonders whether he will get dressed and leave like he always used to do, but instead Keith just pads into the en suite bathroom, the door swishing shut behind him. There is the sound of running water, followed by silence for so long that Shiro almost drifts off to sleep again.

Finally, the door opens again and, for a moment, Keith simply stands in the threshold, his silhouette illuminated by the dim light behind him.

Shiro sits up in bed, not saying anything, not knowing what to say in the first place. The room is dipped in muted shadows and Keith has never looked so soft.

Then the moment is over, Keith steps back toward the bed, the door closes and the light vanishes. That could be it then, the strange interlude easily forgotten, shrugged off as the midnight rambling of a restless mind. But then Keith reaches out a hand, his fingertips finding Shiro's cheek. In the dark, they are trembling.

“Touch me,” Keith whimpers and his voice is not quite his own, “Touch me.”

It's an altogether different request from what they had grown used to. Usually, it was Fuck me. Usually, it was Hurt me.

Shiro has never felt more awake. He does not know what is going on inside of Keith's head, whether this change was triggered by the events of today or whether they had been a long time coming. But they live in the moment, as they always have, and he acts accordingly.

With two strong arms he encircles Keith's waist and sweeps him off his feet, pulling him into the bed, covers his body with his own without suffocating him. Keith presses up against him, trying to get as much of their skin to touch as possible, hiding his face against the side of Shiro's neck and giving a shuddering inhale.

Unexpectedly, Shiro finds himself recalling the time back on the Galran battle ship when he had still been a prisoner and newly settled into his arrangement with the bastard prince. One day, Keith had summoned him into his quarters, which was nothing out of the ordinary, apart from the fact that it had not in the aftermath of a fight in the arena, but Keith's demeanor had been completely new.

He had been strangely circumspect of Shiro's touches, had shied away and finally outright ordered him to stop. And 'Kuro' had obeyed because that was what Kuro did. Kuro fought when he was told to. Kuro fucked when Keith demanded it. Shiro, however, had not needed the order. He had seen the look in Keith's eyes and that had been enough to stall him, but he had never gotten an answer as to what exactly had happened.

Now, he has a suspicion.

Just like that, everything shifts into place. Lotor who had no qualms about letting his men rape Keith. Madir and Arruk who seemed to have had a similarly violent encounter with Keith before. Keith who had suddenly flinched underneath Shiro and taken a long moment to compose himself once more.

Shiro shudders out a breath and doesn't ask. With capable hands, his spreads Keith's thighs apart, settles between them. Keith is tentatively hard against him, as though his body and mind had not quite decided on whether this was the right course of action.

“I grew up by the sea, on an island called Honshu,” Shiro tells him, “My older sister later became a marine biologist but my grandmother said I was always reaching for the stars.”

Not for the first time, he considers the fact that his entire family, his sleepy little village must think him dead. It's a bitter thought, a sobering one, but most times he can quench it by reminding himself that he was doing his best to keep Earth safe. One day, he would return to them.

“I always felt this pull,” he recalls now, “I knew something was out there but... I had no idea.”

He hadn't expected aliens, for once, certainly nothing like Galrans and Alteans and Balmerans and Benrali. He hadn't expected Zarkon and his own abduction. He had not expected Voltron. He had not expected Keith.

“I always felt like I needed to get away,” he admits what he had never acknowledged in front of anyone else, “Away from home, from the Garrison, from the arena, of course. In the beginning, I even wanted to get away from all this new responsibility. But now...”

He trails off, hesitant. Even in the dark, he can feel eyes on him.

“What now?”

“Now I feel like I'm in the right place. At the right time.”

“Between my legs?” Keith asks. Some of his customary spunk has clambered back into his voice, but he still sounds terribly fragile.

“In your arms,” Shiro says and sinks home.

It is, by far, the tenderest sex they've ever had. Shiro's fingers feel the scabbed over wounds on Keith's body, the tremble, the hush.

And Shiro cannot deny that he always enjoyed their rough sessions, the ones that made him wonder whether his time spent as a gladiator had irrevocably changed him. Yet this was what he had ultimately been searching for. Someone to caress and hold on to. Someone who sighs his name, his true name, and does not flee the bed afterwards.

“Stay,” Keith tells him, despite the fact that this is Shiro's room. Perhaps, he is not talking about their sleeping arrangements but about something else.

His mouth is pressed against the spot above Shiro's human heart.

“Stay.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand Keith is back to being a bit of an enigma. I actually already have the last part of this series planned out but now it feels as though I might need another installment to function as a segue, otherwise the jump would feel to abrupt. The last part, by the way, would take us down to Earth. Thoughts?  
> And, as always, requests are welcome!
> 
> Come talk to me on dawnstruck.tumblr.com!


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